


ye of little faith

by facingthenorthwind (spacegandalf)



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Gen, S2M39 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5451320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegandalf/pseuds/facingthenorthwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In one reality, you betray everyone and everything you love.</p>
<p>But in another, you don’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ye of little faith

In one reality, you say no.

The conversation goes like this:

You are sitting on the roof of the pavilion. There are zombies below you but none of them can climb, so you’re not that worried about what’s down there. More concerning is the explosion you just heard coming from Abel’s direction. You’re fairly sure Janine isn’t using explosives as the latest in zombie-removal technology and more importantly, your headset just went dead. Great.

You’re kind of hungry.

You sit on the roof of the pavilion for what seems like hours. It is hours, you can tell by how the sun progresses west. At some point you start talking to the zombies below you, telling every terrible joke you can think of, even that one about three nuns. (When you were in school, you got a Saturday for telling that joke. It was worth it.) The zombies don’t laugh, which is pretty disappointing.

Just as the sun goes behind the trees — fifteen minutes, you estimate, after the zombies finally left you — the helicopter lands. It’s black, but that’s clearly a new paint job done hastily with the wrong kind of paint. (In another reality, you get close enough to see how it has bubbled slightly and there are cracks in it already, showing the white and green logo obscured by the black.)

A man gets out. He’s wearing a suit and, despite the apocalypse, has an immaculate grey goatee. He smiles up at you as you would have smiled, so long ago, at a beautifully-cooked piece of steak. “Hello,” he says, beckoning for you to come down. “It’s quite safe, don’t be alarmed.”

You stay on the roof. He can talk to you from here.

“I see,” he says when you don’t move. “No matter. What’s your name?”

“Simon,” you reply. He smiles wider and you wonder if you should be afraid.

“Simon,” he repeats after you, seeming to roll your name around in his mouth and taste it. “What are you afraid of?”

The question takes you aback. You stare at him and resist the urge to say ‘you’.

“Not much,” you respond. “Standard stuff. Getting eaten alive. My local MP. Running out of lives in video games without checkpoints.”

“What about death?” he says, and you raise your eyebrows, staying silent. “Simon’s a nice biblical name. Founder of the Church.”

(Your namesake denied God three times. Your grandmother wouldn’t let you forget it.)

“Dunno if that’s what my mum was going for,” you say. “Maybe she just thought it was a good name.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes. “But perhaps she wanted you to achieve great things — establishing a church two thousand years ago is one thing, but changing the world now is quite another. Just look at what a mess it’s in!” He sweeps his arms, encompassing the zombies to the east…

and the smoke on the horizon, rising like a beacon.

“What do you want?” you say, shifting slightly on the roof.

“I don’t _want_ anything,” he says. “I’m here to offer you an opportunity. To live up to your name and change the world. We could _fix_ it, you and I. But there are so many problems. Think of what you do now, risking your life on a daily basis. How many times have you brushed up against death only to make a triumphant escape?”

You wonder, for a moment, how he knows what you do — but you’re still wearing your dead headset and trainers, so it wouldn’t be that hard to piece together.

"And you’re saying I wouldn’t have to do that? You can’t take away the zombies.”

“In time, perhaps,” he says, “but for now, I could make you immortal.”

“That’s not true,” you say, scoffing, but you feel like something cold is trickling down your neck. Immortality. Living forever, never finally coming face to face with what you’ve done. Never feeling the cold absence of God — for Hell is not a place, it’s just spending eternity _without_.

“Oh, it is. I’ve been bitten by zombies several times and yet here I am, alive and well.” He pulls up his sleeve and you assume if you weren’t on the roof you would see a bite mark. (In another reality you touch it, tracing the half-moon of scar tissue in awe.)

“Why me, then? We’ve never met.”

“Well, as I’m sure you can see, Abel Township has just been destroyed. You have nowhere to go. I’m a generous man. You’re in need and I can provide.”

“There’s a price, isn’t there?” You’re not an idiot. This is all too good to be true and it makes you want to grab it with both hands and run away all at once.

“A small one. As I said, I’m a generous man. All I would ask of you is information. Abel Township won’t disappear. There’s something under the surface, something that makes it more than just a collection of survivors. I want you to find out what it is. And, of course, there is Maxine Myers.”

“I don’t care what you’re offering, I’m not going to kill her.”

“Kill her?” he says with a chuckle. “No, no, who do you think I am? She, too, has information. Files on the zombie virus. I suspect she will be looking for a cure, as that is what her partner told her to do. We have the same goal in mind, she and I, so gaining access to her research would be extraordinarily beneficial. I’m sure it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

He smiles again and even though you can’t stop thinking about immortality, his smile makes you feel unclean. His gaze is something you want to scrub off.

“You’re asking me to lie. To betray them.”

(Well, it would be fitting.)

“Betrayal is a strong word,” the man says. “You might have to lie a little, but remember, our goals are the same. By helping me you’ll be helping them. Helping all of humanity! Think of how much better the world will be when we no longer have to fear death. You can make that happen.”

You think of immortality, of never having to own up to your sins. You think of Hell. But you think, too, of the people you love. Clover, her easy laugh and her soft lips. Janine, so standoffish but so protective of the community that’s sprung up around her. You think of Abel, you think of home, and you turn to the man on the ground.

In this reality, you say no.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr Jan 2014.


End file.
